Page 29 of Those Two Words

“Of course I did,” he says and squeezes my wrist gently. “You’re my best friend. And I guess this makes me your prom date now, huh?”

Chuckling softly, I stroke the soft petals of the corsage before smiling at Patrick so wide, my cheeks hurt. My humiliation is long gone, and Brody Dixon forgotten. “And I’m yours.”

A sudden gust of wind whips across our faces, pulling me back from the memory. We’re still standing impossibly close to each other in the middle of the parking lot.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” The wind picks up as my voice pitches with emotions.

I can’t bring myself to look at his face right now, so I keep my eyes trained on his throat. He swallows deeply before speaking. “I never got the chance, and it was all so new between us.”

Whether it’s from the cold or the devastation, Patrick notices the shiver that ripples through me.

Taking hold of the coat still hanging from my fingers, he drapes it over my shoulders and rubs his hands up and down my biceps. The way he looks after me, even when there’s so much strain between us, reminds me of that same seventeen-year-old boy.

He gives me a sad smile before he backs away. My body screams at him to come back as he walks toward a row of trucks. My legs have a mind of their own as I follow him silently. Pulling out his keys, he stops in front of a very familiar-looking blue Chevy and slides the key into the lock. Turning toward me, my face must give away my shock at seeing his dad’s old truck.

He taps the roof and opens the passenger door for me. “I’m as shocked as you are that this old thing is still running.”

Flashbacks of school pickups, camping trips, and drive-in movies come racing back to me as I walk to where he’s holding the door open for me. A small dent in the passenger door has a watery smile appearing on my face, remembering the first time Patrick drove it and within the first yard, hit his neighbor’s mailbox. He freaked out for a good hour, but in classic Ted fashion, he didn’t care and was just glad we were okay.

“Get in, I’ll crank the heat.”

I hesitate for only a second before sliding past Patrick. There isn’t much space between his truck and the one next to it, and when my hip grazes his, he plasters himself against the car door to escape me. I can’t decide whether to chuckle that he’s trying to be a gentleman or cry that he’s trying his hardest to stay away from me.

He rounds the truck and climbs in as I slide into the passenger seat, then chucks his phone and wallet on the bench between us.

“Here,” Patrick says as he reaches behind me to the backseat. He’s wrapped in a black parka, and when he leans back, his navy Henley rides up to reveal a sliver of muscle and a trail of hair disappearing under his dark blue jeans.

I immediately snap my eyes forward. My emotions are all over the place. From panic, to anger, shock, and now…I have no idea what’s hanging in the air between us. Something scratchy falls in my lap and I meet Patrick’s meek gaze.

“Sorry, that’s all I have in this truck.”

“This is fine,” I say and drape the blanket over my knees.

He nods and turns to face the windshield. The interior lighting turns off after a few seconds and we’re blanketed in darkness, both staring out across the blueberry field in front of us. I hate the awkward tension between us, so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. The younger versions of us would be so confused at it all, but I guess time and distance can do that to people.

“I don’t want it to be like this,” Patrick murmurs, breaking the silence. We stay facing forward, but from the corner of my eye I can see his fingers flexing against the steering wheel. “I handled you coming back badly and I’m sorry.”

“My dad and your mom didn’t exactly prime you for my return. And maybe I shouldn’t have pretended that…well, that everything could just be ignored,” I offer.

“I know why they didn’t tell me. But I think I’ve done my fair share of pretending too.”

The side of my face warms, and I know he’s looking at me. I want to meet his eyes, but I drop my head and play with the frayed edges of the blanket instead.

“I’ve been unfair to you, and you won’t be surprised to hear that my brothers have been giving me a hard time for it. And Dex. I want to make this work between us. For the restaurant,” he rushes out. “If you’re here to stay?—”

“I am,” I blurt out. I need him to know that I’m not going anywhere.

His head rests against the seat; he looks tired, handsome, and so familiar. I want so badly to wipe away the frown line etched into his face, erase all his worries and doubts. We were always that person for one another, someone we would go to for validation, to vent, to laugh, or to cry with.

He has Carrie for that now.

I watch his throat work as he mulls over his next words. When he turns his head to face me, I swear I see relief. “Okay. I’ve had a lot of time to go over what happened all those years ago, I’ve gone through all the motions, and I’m not mad at you for leaving. I might not know or understand why you left, and I’d still like to hear you out. I don’t think tonight is the time for that. If we’re going to continue working together, I think a clean slate is what we need.”

“I agree. There’s more I want to say, but I struggle to open up sometimes.” The worry in his face deepens and I’m quick to assure him. “It’s nothing bad, or anything you need to worry about, just some things I had to work through. I don’t find it easy to share…but I want to tell you when I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll listen. I know I acted like a prick, but I’ll never stop worrying about you.”

How does one even begin to respond to that? “I’m not here to make things difficult for you. I want us to move forward too.”My stubborn heart will hate me for what I say next, but it seems crucial if we really want to move past this all. “I know we have history, but Carrie can rest easy knowing I’m not here to rekindle anything.”

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